jaxxrabbie

[jaxxrabbie]

I keep sinking my teeth into my own wounds wondering why I won’t stop bleeding.

Let go.

[jaxxrabbie]

Outside of space and time there is a realm where physical being is meaningless but the magic bonding you together expands in abyss. In this realm I hope to find you. Not wandering around with a dying stars lantern, but in the direct reflection of my essence. A familiar presence, one that’s been the puzzle piece to my unequivocal emptiness. Although I’ve had you for all my mortal life, it simply wasn’t enough. I’ll find you in the atoms of our bond, in the molecular structure of our fabricated universe. When nothing is all I am, and we’re somewhere our consciousness can’t understand, and even if my being is simply particles of sand, I’ll create a hand, to hold yours.

[jaxxrabbie]

No, I don’t know who I am.

Yes, I put a new mask on everyday and pretend the world isn’t terrifying.

No, I can’t keep relationships this way.

Yes, everyone eventually realizes I’m a fraud.

[jaxxrabbie]

For once I want someone to write about how maybe my tears wash away their sins, and that heaven doesn’t seem so far away when I smile. Just once, I want someone to convey me in a way of purity, instead of this filth I can’t seem to rub off. Just one time.

[jaxxrabbie]

And suddenly I find myself buried under the weight of living again. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s heavy.

[jaxxrabbie]

I’ve been angry at my hands, for not creating something. I’ve been angry at my feet, for holding me up but never taking me anywhere, besides to the face of my bathroom mirror. Speaking of which, I’ve also been quite angry at my brain, and its capability for learning an entirely different language. And it’s decision to use that ability to instead create a new one to hate myself in every morning. I’ve been angry at myself for a long time. And what an awful thing to be.

[jaxxrabbie]

Is this what living means? Prickled skin, littered in needled hair. Clenched jaw and closed fists. Is that what living is? Have I always been this uncomfortable?

[jaxxrabbie]

Wait, God, give me one more second.

I need to explain myself.

I have to write down everything

I see. Everything

I feel.

Wait, God, I’m doing what you asked.

I’m sending you letters with bloody fingerprint seals. Have you read them yet?

I’ll nail them to your door,

if that makes it easier for you.

[jaxxrabbie]

I’ve seen myself die many times. I’ve gripped my broken pieces laid before me, in search of a needle and a strand of your hair to weave new seams. I’m trying to resurrect who you wanted me to be. Did I sacrifice myself or did you crucify me? There was always a blurred line where the two meet.

[jaxxrabbie]

I wonder how many books are pushed into shelves with my name graffitied into the cover. I wonder how many hands have traced my mark, shaking their head in disapproval, or somehow became inspired to do the same. Perhaps my name being left behind to collect dust on the shelves served some sort of grand purpose I’ll never know of. Could have been just a glance or second thought, or possibly someone saw my penmanship and decided to start writing their E’s and A’s like mine. How many teenagers have sat down and faced that same book with same gnawing thought that if I don’t write my name down I’ll never be known. I’ll be sat here in this library with no purpose, no proof that I ever existed. Cause isn’t that what we all want? A witness to the life we live? I want proof not just for me, but for everyone else to see. I am here, I was here, and I will never leave. I am still sitting in that seat with that same marker in my palm. I will write down my own legacy and forge a path with these bare hands. I am here, and I exist, even in the midst of all things lost, you have found my book. You have carried the weight of my entire existence and seen it stuffed between pages. You have seen the condensed version of my entire being into 3 simple words that mean nothing to you, but everything to me. I am traces of pen, trails of marker, carvings in desks and the hole in the bus seat. I am the existence of being, tucked away on a book shelf waiting to be picked. Waiting to be witnessed, and wondering if anyone will see the proof that I exist.

[jaxxrabbie]

Oh innocence, how I long for you. I find you in the mud outside my window, you sit with not a sliver of fear for what lives beneath. The earth, carried in your delicate palms. You create universes with simple components. You pour the light beaming from your skin into the dirt scraping your knees, and swirl them together while hope stands still in the corner of your eye. You carry your creation and scream to the sky, “I have shaped a new world! I have birthed the universes first gift, for I will not be the destroyer of man, I will be the one to remind them to live!” Bravery on your sleeve, love seeping from your fingertips, you’re everything I yearn to be. If I had known growing up meant leaving you behind, I would have played in the mud a little longer, and asked hope to stay by my side.

[jaxxrabbie]

So thats what I do, I retreat at any form of intimacy. My bones shiver and my throat tightens. I’m a deer in the road, a gazelle on the run. A rabbit ready to jump.

[jaxxrabbie]

I haven’t left my bedroom in nine days. I’m beginning to understand what they mean when they say hell is a place on earth.

[jaxxrabbie]

You make me want to write something beautiful. But I don’t know how to turn you into words. You’re an enigma. Your essence cannot be condensed into letters. You are a feeling, a place. You’re a home.

[jaxxrabbie]

I ripped your shirts and found myself with new rags. I almost laughed. It’s quite fitting to use what you left behind to clean up the mess.

[jaxxrabbie]

You are filling the space between my skin and muscle. Crawling in and out my veins, finding broken cells and mending them with cures that spill from your lips. You find the locked box in my chest and break it open revealing a light I thought had been diminished. You have created a home in a body I thought was a prison.

[jaxxrabbie]

I found a piece of rubble and took a seat. Scraped knees, matted hair, bloods coming from somewhere. I’ve survived the landslide, and it seems it was prophesied. The girl will make it through, even with only destruction as her view. Everything she touches will wither away, she will not love anything for more than a day. The girl is cursed to be alone, leave her in the rubble, watch her rot on the stone.